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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827057">needed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove'>civillove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, sick!malcolm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:54:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“The guy who never listens to anyone is taking a sick day? How did you manage that? Even the restraints on his bed don’t do the trick in forcing him to stay home and away from a crime scene.” </p><p>A soft sick!Malcolm fic with caring!Dani and whole lot of idiots with feelings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>needed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hank you especially to thatwaxlion on tumblr for their kind messages about missing my Prodigal Son fics! It bounced me into actually writing one lol I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dani flashes her badge to get past the guards that are squaring off the lobby elevators in a bustling Manhattan law office. Ever since the cleaning crew found a body on the fiftieth floor, security and the police have been working tirelessly. They’re attempting to comb through people who had been working when the murder took place and employees just coming in ready to start their day.</p><p>She pinches the bridge of her nose as she waits for the elevator to take her to the appropriate floor; what a nightmare. She already knows that this case is going to be tiresome based on the amount of witnesses they’ll have to clear—she should have stopped at a coffee cart on her way here.</p><p>When she empties out onto the fiftieth floor, she nods her head at a few officers standing by and walks down the hall to the corner office where Gil told her the crime scene was. Not that it would have been much more difficult for her to find it on her own, there’s already a <em>ton </em>of news coverage about this and it’s barely eight AM. She supposes that’s what happens when a murder occurs in a prestigious Manhattan law office; she’s never heard of the victim before but just from overhearing conversations in the lobby from other people who worked in this building, the guy was well known.</p><p>Dani makes her way into the corner office, the space nearly bigger than her apartment. It’s impressive, to say the very least; floor to ceiling windows, any wood in the room a soft cherry tint to it, detailed paintings above the desk and hanging over a nearby table alongside the far wall and the carpet a soft cream color that reminds her of sheep wool. She has to bite the tip of her tongue; <em>this is seriously an office someone works in everyday? </em>She shakes her head, eyes traveling to the center of the room where the victim is—Mark Smit, fifty-three, face down on his pristine carpet that’s now soaked to the bone in scarlet red.</p><p>She sticks her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, tilting her head as she tries to get a better look as Edrisa’s technicians poke and prod the body to get their own answers. JT takes a step towards her from where he was talking to a few of Smit’s colleagues, gently bumping into her shoulder.</p><p>She smiles gently, “Morning, what do we got?”</p><p>“Someone slit his throat,” Edrisa replies for him, looking up at them from her spot on the floor as she kneels. One of her lab personnel helps her turn the body over and Dani winces at the jagged slice on the man’s neck—it’s nearly deep enough to see the bone.</p><p>A shiver courses down her back and she straightens her spine, glancing at JT who’s making the same face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Time of death?”</p><p>“Given how much the blood has pooled, I’d say midnight? Smit was working late, according to some of the questions JT’s asked—killer caught him by surprise.”</p><p>Dani raises an eyebrow, “He didn’t see it coming?”</p><p>She shakes her head and her gloved fingers move towards the deep incision right above the collar of Smit’s shirt, “There wasn’t a struggle. There are no defensive wounds on his hands or anything that might come from trying to force someone off. It was quick.”</p><p>Her fingers curl into her palms as she looks around the office; everything appears to be pristine, everything in its place. Edrisa’s right, there’s no struggle—at least one that they can’t see given the crime scene. The only sign of disarray is on the man’s desk but all that tells them is that he was working late; laptop still open, binders spread out, papers and notepads with scribbled pen and rapidly cooling coffee.</p><p>She takes a few steps to look over the desk herself, eyes traveling along the case files that Smit had open. She’s no lawyer, but just from a brief observation she can tell that what he was working on doesn’t have the best motive for murder.</p><p>As for the rest of the room, nothing appears to be manipulated in foul play. There’s not one book on the bookshelf out of place, chairs and tables are unmoved, knick-knacks are undisturbed. She turns to look at JT,</p><p>“Did we ask any of Smit’s colleagues about the office?”</p><p>He nods, on her same trail of thought, “Yeah, few other employees said his office always looked like this. Not a hair out of place; nothin’ looks different to them.”</p><p>She rocks forward on the balls of her feet and then something occurs to her because the space between their conversations is <em>quiet; </em>there’s no detailed profiling or educated guesses or inappropriate commentary about the time of death or method of murder.</p><p>“Where’s Bright?” She asks as Gil walks in pulling a set of rubber gloves on.</p><p>“Kid’s out for today,” He says as he wanders over to where Edrisa is taking a few samples off of Smit’s body, “Taking a sick day.”</p><p>Dani raises her eyebrows, a soft noise of amusement making it’s way out of her lips, “The guy who never listens to anyone is taking a sick day? How did you manage that? Even the restraints on his bed don’t do the trick in forcing him to stay home and away from a crime scene.”</p><p>Gil smiles a little, “I threatened to call his mother.”</p><p>Now she laughs, quickly covering her mouth with the back of her wrist, “Ah.”</p><p>It seems, as she takes another look around, that Gil might have made the right call to keep Malcolm at home if he’s not feeling well. This doesn’t seem like a case where he’d have a lot to add to—sometimes the team has murders where there isn’t this huge inner working of a backstory that leads them to other crime scenes. Sometimes this was New York and bad shit happened; though she has to admit, it’s been a while since it’s felt like that.</p><p>“We should be able to wrap up this case pretty quickly,” Gil muses as he looks up at her and JT. “There’s a lot of video surveillance to sift through.”</p><p>“Fun.” JT mumbles before peeling his gloves off to throw away.</p><p>“Gil’s right,” Edrisa smiles up at them and Dani knows even before she says anything that it’s going to be one of those moments where she wishes Bright was here to counter, “This is just a slit throat, it’s not like we got a Columbian necktie on our hands,” She grins, a giddiness in her voice that can’t be misplaced. “You know, cause…the tie he’s wearing is red. So.” She waits for someone to humor her or <em>get </em>the well-placed commentary she’s attempting to lay down, but without Malcolm, it hits the carpeted ground hard when Gil clears his throat.</p><p>Dani smiles a little in sympathy before turning to catalogue some other parts of the room, taking a few moments to try and <em>dig </em>between what’s on the surface and what might be underneath. She takes a few pictures with her cell phone so that she can look at them later, even if nothing jumps out to her right now.</p><p>Malcolm seems to do it so seamlessly, victim’s backstories and a place’s imprint speaking to him with little to no effort. But all she sees is perfectly placed books, tables and chairs that haven’t moved and expensive paintings that might be landscapes but she’s not sure.</p><p>He’s been in her apartment a few times and he’s <em>seen </em>places in her that she’s never really spoken about to anyone, just by observing her space. He knows she loves the ocean and that her grandparents really connected her to big band music; small intimate details that someone would miss unless she told them.</p><p>But he <em>sees </em>her.</p><p>
  <em>“I think my wallet is down between the couch cushions, that’s usually where it ends up. I’ll be a minute.” She says over her shoulder as she walks into her apartment, Malcolm on her heels.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wanders in and waves her off gently, telling her take her time before he draws his hands behind his back. It’s something he does very purposely so he doesn’t get too overwhelmed with wanting to touch things, fingertips grazing across surfaces as he puts together puzzle piece stories in his mind. He rocks back on his heels as she digs between the couch cushions, looking at her nearby table that has a small vase with dried flowers and a bowl for her car keys. As she finds her wallet, putting it in her back pocket, Malcolm fingers at the leaves of one of the flowers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The pressure of his fingers instantly makes it crumble under his touch, a few petals jostling loose and falling to the table like pieces of burnt paper. She pauses a moment, watching before she meets him where he’s standing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Found it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He nods, chewing on a few words in his mouth that he’s not sure whether he wants to say. His eyes glance up at her, taking in a short breath, “I didn’t know you didn’t like flowers in your apartment.” </em>
</p><p><em>She feels her entire body hesitate, jaw going a little slack as she stares because </em>how <em>can he possibly know that just from the fact that he’s destroyed a few dried-out stems? Dani’s knee-jerk reaction is to go on defense, her walls strengthening and getting higher so that he can’t climb over them, biting down on her tongue hard so she doesn’t snap at him to mind his own business. </em></p><p>
  <em>He often has no idea that what comes out of his mouth has consequences. He seems to sense that he’s made a mistake because he takes a step back from her and dips his chin, on the breath of an apology before she interrupts—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, I don’t.” Instead, for reasons she can’t justify, she plays right into his profile. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Malcolm nods softly, clearing his throat, “Because they remind you of funerals.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She looks away from him, her expression answering before her mouth has a chance to, “Yes, they do. Besides, there’s a little dried flower shop that sells…potpourri, lotions and perfumes. More fitting to my aesthetic.” And she smiles with a little too much teeth as she reaches for the door of her apartment that they both walk through. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hums gently and turns the collar up on his coat to block the wind of the New York streets when they head outside, “So you’re saying you don’t want flowers bought for you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dani chews on her lower lip, shaking her head as she curls her hair around her ear. Despite the conversation, there’s the softest hint of teasing that she can hear in Malcolm’s voice and it tugs at the corners of her mouth,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I didn’t say that.” </em>
</p><p>Dani eventually stops by a cart on the way back to her car, standing in a short line to order what will probably be a burnt coffee in a too-small cup but beggars can’t be choosers. She needs a jolt of caffeine in order to go into the precinct and be ready to sort through hours of video footage with JT.</p><p>She threads a few fingers through her hair, taking her phone out to text him if he wants anything before she pauses over her message threads, thumb brushing over the one she has with Malcolm. She bites down on her lower lip, wondering if she should check in with him? Maybe bring him a cup of tea or just text to see how he is? She knows that without a doubt he’d do it for her, even in the middle of a case. Sometimes she thinks he likes sticking his nose into other people’s business a little too much, and that’s how he always seems to find himself over her apartment, bringing her a cup of tea or a bag of blueberry muffins if she’s feeling poorly. Blueberry muffins that he’s <em>definitely </em>made himself and the fact that he’s so good at baking is unbelievably not fair.</p><p>She’s a decent cook but there’s something about having all the exact measurements and knowing how your oven works down to a degree that throws her off her game every time.</p><p>“Miss?” She looks up, blinking as she realizes she’s next in line. “What can I get you?”</p><p>Dani lets out a slow breath and knows she’s probably going to regret this, “Two coffees please.”</p><p>--</p><p>She calls Gil on the way to Malcolm’s to get a few hours to herself, which turns out is fine because their usual fast pace is significantly lower with an open-and-shut case. Edrisa is working on the autopsy, getting all her ducks in a row, and JT is just beginning to skim through some of the video footage so Gil tells her she can take her time coming in.</p><p>She doesn’t give him an explanation, but it turns out Malcolm isn’t the only one who’s good at reading her, “Tell him there’s no reason for him to help on this case. We worked just fine without him at one point.”</p><p>Dani smiles a little, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder as she closes the car door with her foot. “Noted boss, thanks. See you in a bit.” She ends the call and sticks her phone into her back pocket before grabbing what she needs and makes her way into his apartment complex.</p><p>She pauses when she gets to his door, wondering if she should use the key he’s given her for emergencies that’s burning a hole in her wallet or if knocking will due the trick. If he’s sleeping, she doesn’t want to wake him and not only that but if he’s asleep he’ll be attached to his bed quite literally.</p><p>She sighs and jostles a brown paper bag underneath her arm and goes to reach for her wallet but the door suddenly opens up. She lets out a sigh as Malcolm leans against the doorframe with his eyebrows raised, surprised but not upset to see her.</p><p>“Gil send you to check up on me?” He asks, his voice heavy like it’s caked with sleep. She can tell his throat hurts from saying the words, clearing it afterwards so he doesn’t cough.</p><p>“Can’t I just do something nice?” Dani asks and he narrows his eyes at her because he doesn’t believe her for a second. But he does let her inside, the door closing behind them.</p><p>He definitely looks a little worse for wear, baggy joggers and a big sweater that’s gray knit and covers his hands unless he purposely rolls the sleeves up. His hair is ungelled and threatening to spill over his forehead at any given point, eyes tired with a soft red rim around his eyelids and nose. It’s probably just a cold, nothing to call the doctor over but Dani bites her tongue on saying that if he took better care of himself, he probably wouldn’t be sick in the first place.</p><p>He barely eats, doesn’t get enough sleep, and works himself ragged—</p><p>“I can hear you judging me,” He raises his hand in front of her, his other rubbing at his eye. Despite the fact that he’s sick, it seems his ability to profile hasn’t taken a hit. “Stop.”</p><p>She scoffs out a sound that’s a little fond, “Well it’s not like I’m wrong. You need to take better care of yourself.” Dani tugs her leather jacket off, moving to hang it on a coat rack near Sunshine’s cage.</p><p>He sniffles, bringing his arm up to cough into his elbow. “Duly noted.” He motions to the bag she has under her arm, “So if Gil didn’t send you, why are you here?”</p><p>Dani takes a few steps into his loft, setting down two coffees that she’s just barely managed to balance between her forearms and chest and the brown paper bag in her other hand. She straightens the bottom of her shirt before turning to look at him; does he really not get why she’s here?</p><p>She watches him wander over to the kitchen counter and picks one of the coffees up, taking the lid off to grab sugar for himself and dump a few spoonfuls in. He really must be sick because she’s never seen him do that. She bites her tongue on a bunch of things she <em>could </em>say about why she’s ended up in his apartment, what seems like the most obvious almost spilling from her mouth.</p><p>Doesn’t he get it? She cares about him…they’re friends, this is what friends do, isn’t it? Check up on one another? Making sure he doesn’t need anything even though he insists that when he <em>is </em>well that he can handle most things on his own? She wishes he’d listen to someone, just once, about how he can depend on the people in his life—like her, who’s standing in his kitchen with a bag of sweets and burnt coffee when she could have just gone to the precinct to work.</p><p>She shakes her head as he leans his elbows on the counter and sips at his coffee, his gaze finding her own, “I’m here because I knew you weren’t taking care of yourself. You know, like any other day ending in Y.”</p><p>He smiles a little, just briefly against the rim of his cup before taking another sip. He fingers at the brown paper bag before opening it up, looking inside, “Blueberry scones?”  </p><p>Dani lets out a long breath that flutters the bangs on her forehead, “Yeah, don’t worry, I didn’t make anything. Picked them up at a café on the way.”</p><p>“Well, I know you didn’t make them because they’d be burnt on the bottom if you had.” He takes one out of the bag and sets it on a napkin in front of him. Maybe he’s doing just fine because the teasing is organic and normal as if he was at the precinct with her in front of crime scene photos.</p><p>But then he pulls back and turns quite suddenly, sneezing not once but twice into his arm and she bites her tongue on saying ‘karma’ as he groans and reaches for a tissue. “Bless you,” She says instead and picks up her coffee to take a sip, “Sounds like a nasty cold.”</p><p>“It doesn’t feel great either,” He mumbles after blowing his nose. He throws the tissues away, washes his hands and sits at the counter to eat the scone she’s brought him. Malcolm sighs then, tipping his head back because he’s forgotten something and Dani rolls her eyes, moving towards his fridge.</p><p>“Seriously, how were you fending for yourself before I got here?” She tugs up her sleeves and takes his scone from him without asking. She follows his train of thought buy slicing it in half and putting it in the toaster-oven to warm, butter now set in front of him for when its ready.</p><p>“I’ve pretty much been lying on a variety of surfaces including, but not limited to, this kitchen counter.”</p><p>She raises an eyebrow but can’t quite tell if he’s kidding and decides she doesn’t want to know, digging into the paper bag for another scone for herself. She eats it as it is, not wanting to warm it or add butter but takes his out of the toaster-oven when it’s ready and puts it in front of him.</p><p>“I’m assuming you can butter your own scone.”</p><p>Malcolm says something under his breath and she can’t hear what it is but smiles anyways, settling back onto her stool as she watches him add butter to both sides of the scone. He bites into one half, a soft sigh leaving his lips and honestly this might be the quietest he’s ever been around her. She wonders if he’s getting any sleep because she can almost guarantee that this is the first thing he’s ate in a while. Malcolm looks up at her after a few moments, his fingers stimming by rotating the paper coffee cup on his kitchen counter. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders before he takes another bite of his scone.</p><p>“You don’t have to stick around.”</p><p>Dani drums her fingers on the counter, “I have a few hours.”</p><p>“I mean,” He tries again, “I don’t want you to get sick.”</p><p>She touches her chest in mock offense, which almost makes him smile, “<em>I </em>have a great immune system, thanks very much. I rarely get sick.”</p><p>Malcolm licks his lips, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands when he’s done eating. “Famous last words.”</p><p>Standing up from the stool, she walks over and gathers up his half-eaten scone and puts it back into the brown paper bag in case he wants it later. She then takes a tea kettle on his stove, fills it with hot water and sets it on a burner. He’s not completely done with his coffee but liquids are going to help get him through this, especially tea, and she knows that the moment she leaves this apartment he’s probably going to curl up in bed to continue taking half-assed care of himself.</p><p>“So you’re not here to ask me about the case?” Dani turns to look over her shoulder, fixing him with a look to which he smiles sheepishly, “Edrisa.”</p><p>Of course; the mortician can barely keep the conversation to herself when they’re all on a case together—she shouldn’t be surprised that she reached out about their latest victim since Malcolm wasn’t there.</p><p>“Gil says we don’t need a profile, cut and dry murder.”  </p><p>Malcolm clears his throat but all that ends up doing is setting him off in a coughing fit. Dani takes a step towards him though she’s not sure what she’s doing exactly, wanting to rub his back or offer a glass of water until the tea is ready. He extends his arm, keeping her far enough away until he’s finished. He swallows thickly, his hand settling onto his forehead as he leans his elbows onto the counter. His fingers thread through his hair and she wonders if he has a headache as the tea kettle finally whistles.</p><p>She pours him a cup of tea, settling the mug in front of him so the steam can kiss his skin, hopefully offering a bit of comfort.</p><p>He sniffles, leaning up a little to play with the teabag as it steeps in the water, “Are you just saying that because the guy’s throat was slit?” Dani takes a moment, realizing that he’s <em>telling a joke </em>and puts her hand on her hip to glare at him.</p><p>Bright smiles, just a little, “That's a little insensitive, even for you.”</p><p>“If you’re not careful you’re gonna end up lying down on the surface of this kitchen floor,” She points at him, leaning against the counter as he begins to fix up his tea.</p><p>He smirks but pretends to zip his mouth closed and they both know that won’t last very long but she appreciates the demonstration. She checks her phone in her back pocket to make sure she doesn’t have any messages from Gil or JT and finishes her rapidly cooling cup of burnt coffee before throwing the cup away.</p><p>Malcolm sits quietly at the counter, letting the heat of the mug she’s poured hot water into warm the pads of his hands. He sniffles, leaning over to breathe in the steam, most likely to help his congested sinuses but she hopes that the scent of Earl Gray can bring a little relief to him. He shivers suddenly but his face is flushed and her eyebrows crinkle together because,</p><p>“Do you have a fever?”</p><p>He shakes his head as he looks up at her, “No.”</p><p>She gives him a look, clicking her tongue off the roof of her mouth, “Have you taken your temperature?”</p><p>He purses his lips, which just tells her <em>no </em>and she begins to reach her hand out to touch his forehead but he stops her before she can. Malcolm sits back from her touch and she’s about to scold him on the fact that he should just let her <em>try </em>to see if he’s warm but she misreads why he pushes her away.</p><p>Turning into his arm, he sneezes again, blinking as if that one has taken him by surprise. Maybe from the steam of the mug in front of him. He reaches for another tissue and washes his hands, completely content with avoiding her as he tries to go into the living room with his tea but she grabs at his wrist.</p><p>“Seriously, you don’t have to,” He tries as she yanks him towards the stool she’s sitting on, “I don’t have a fever, I’m just miserable.”</p><p>Dani smiles a little, “Thank you for the distinction. While your profiling of places and other people are pretty on the nose, you’re actually the worst at taking a look at yourself. Just let me just check.”</p><p>He sighs tiredly before surrendering himself to her, leaning against the counter as she turns on her stool to face him. His eyes gently tick over her hands and wrists, his own coming up to brush his hair off his forehead.</p><p>“You need to use the back of your hand or your lips because the palm of your hand isn’t as sensitive to changes in temperature.”</p><p>Dani pauses for a second, her fingers drawing into the palm of her hand. This is really not the first time she’s ever taken someone’s temperature but the fact that he needs to tell her how to do is definitely a Bright-ism that she’s not surprised by. What does cause her to hesitate is the fact that he says she can use the back of her hand <em>or </em>her lips and in that exact moment, Malcolm seems to realize what he’s said too because his eyes widen ever so slightly.</p><p>“Alright,” She says and clears her throat, moving to gently wrap her hand around the back of his neck to draw him further down. He puts up no resistance, closing his eyes when she presses her lips to his forehead.</p><p>It’s quick as she attempts to calculate in her mind’s eye, so many thoughts racing in her head that she’s having trouble concentrating on what she’s doing. His hair tickles the bridge of her nose as it falls forward and she pulls away, looking up at him and considering, so many words stuck underneath her tongue.</p><p>“Am I gonna make it, doc?” He asks, the most genuine smile on his lips since she’s gotten there.</p><p>A soft laugh tumbles out of her mouth before she nods quickly, “Yeah, you’re fine. You don’t have a fever and swallow the ‘I told you so’.”</p><p>Bright hums and his smile grows a little wider but he does as he’s told, not uttering a single one of those words as he rocks back onto his heels when she gets up to walk into his bedroom.</p><p>“I have to get going soon and you need to get more sleep because that’s the only way you’re going to kick this thing.” She says as she walks to one of his dressers and pulls a sweatshirt out so he can tug it over the sweater he’s already got on.</p><p>Malcolm clears his throat and rubs at the bottom of his neck before he picks up his tea and follows her into the bedroom, sitting on the corner of his bed as he watches her riffle through his dresser. She moves to stand in front of him, handing him the sweatshirt,</p><p>“Put this on.” She takes his cup of tea and sets it on his nightstand.</p><p>“I was wondering if you could tell me a little more about this case that the team is working on,” He struggles to get his arms through the sleeves with the added layer of his sweater but eventually makes it work. She smiles, biting her tongue on the comment that he looks like some sort of skewed abominable snowman with how bulky he is.</p><p>Dani crosses her arms over her chest, “Really, Bright, we got this.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt your abilities,” He says quickly, looking up at her as he runs his hands through his untamed locks. “It’s just…” He clears his throat, wondering how best to put this. She watches him struggle with the words and she moves to sit down on the bed too, bending one of her knees under herself so that she’s facing him. “I’m feeling a little stir crazy. I don’t like being home this often without anything to do even when I’m not sick.”</p><p>She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment—she gets that, she really does. Especially when they’re working on a hard case, sometimes it’s difficult for her to go back to her apartment; like the walls are going to close in on her if she sits still and <em>thinks. </em>She knows that being busy is important to Bright, that it keeps the chatter in his head from overwhelming him but…she’s just not sure what he can really <em>offer </em>to this case.</p><p>“Edrisa was asking my opinion on the victim’s COD and I’m not disagreeing that the case doesn’t look black and white. There’s nothing abnormal about the body placement, the knife wounds or how the victim died but I’m—” His voice pinches a little and when Dani glances down at the hand that’s not hidden by his sleeves, his fingers are shaking. He tugs at the bottom of his sweater to try and hide the reaction from her but she’s already seen it.</p><p>He turns his head to smile at her, blue eyes not as clear because he doesn’t feel well. “I just want to feel useful.”</p><p>She shakes her head, her hand gently squeezing his wrist, “Bright, just because you’re not bouncing off the walls in the conference room adding to the commentary does not mean you’re not useful.”</p><p>He nods, letting out a slow sigh. He runs a hand over his face, sniffling when he looks down at her touch on his forearm. Malcolm doesn’t rush to add anything else and maybe he’s too tired to really argue with her, to insist that he has some sort of insight that they’re missing on the case. Dani sighs, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling because she <em>knows </em>that somehow, she’s going to regret this.</p><p>She lifts up her hips from the bed and takes out her phone, unlocking it before tapping on her photo gallery. “Three minutes and then I’m putting you to bed.”</p><p>He brightens considerably as if there’s a murder happening right before his very eyes in his apartment complex as he takes her phone, “And not a second more.”</p><p>Dani rolls her eyes before standing from the bed, reaching for his tea to get more hot water and freshen the cup up as he scrolls through the crime scene photos she’s taken. She can hear him talking but it’s not about her listening to him, he’s working something out in his head. He analyzes what’s right in front of him and tries to build connections to what Edrisa has told him about the body of Smit. She’s not even sure what he can really <em>get </em>from all that but she lets him work, has the sense that he needs to.</p><p>She wanders over with his cup of tea, trying to hand it to him but he gently shakes his head and she puts it on the nightstand again before sitting next to him. He’s looking at the photo she’s taken of the painting above the desk, lifting his chin as he thinks and stares at something that’s not quite there while he attempts to connect the dots.</p><p>He then turns to her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he hands her back her phone. Dani raises an eyebrow, their fingers brushing. She hates how cold his touch is, so used to it being warmer than her own.</p><p>“Well Gil was right,” He says after a moment, clearing his throat. Bright stands only to reach across her for the cup of tea she’s set down on the nightstand and takes a long sip that’s visually soothing to his throat, “You don’t need a profile.”</p><p>She doesn’t know whether she should be pleased or not that he wasn’t able to make anything out of the crime scene photos in conjunction with Smit’s autopsy. On the one hand, she’s satisfied by the fact that they can handle a situation without him…just in case he gets himself sick again and has to take days for himself. That they don’t need a profile for every murder that falls onto their laps in New York city. Though, on the other hand, she wanted to be able to take those feelings from him—the ones that have somehow convinced him that he isn’t necessary or needed just because he’s taking a day off.</p><p>She opens her mouth to reply but then Malcolm is smiling, leaning closer to her on the bed as he taps on the screen of her phone so it doesn’t go dark. “But you did need someone who's been around ten thousand-dollar paintings before. That Degas; it's upside down.”</p><p>Dani blinks, quickly looking down at the painting he’s referring to. She doesn’t get it at first because <em>how </em>can he possibly know that? It’s not a very big painting to start with, a landscape sort of scene painted with copper tones, burnt oranges and soft highlights of brown. There’s contrasting blue and green streaks across the canvas and a sound empties out of her throat as she considers what he’s saying because <em>what? </em></p><p>Malcolm looks far too smug for his own good but she’s not about to comment on that because threads that they didn’t know they were missing begin to weave their way into the stitchwork of their case, “What if Smit bought it and just decided to position it that way?”</p><p>He shakes his head, a soft smirk against the rim of his mug as he takes a sip, “You do not buy an expensive painting and don't know how to hang it.” He shrugs his shoulder, “Trust me.”</p><p>And she does, of course she does, it doesn’t really have anything to do with trust. It just feels like her brain is suddenly playing catch-up. Despite the fact that they have video surveillance to work through and they <em>will </em>find a perp that way without any doubt in her mind…there’s a layer to the killer’s backstory that Malcolm has managed to dig up with little to no effort.</p><p>“My guess is, someone came to steal it but didn’t realize Smit was going to be working late. He took it off the wall but then couldn’t risk getting it out of the building when he’d just committed a murder,” He clears his throat and ends up coughing into his elbow, shaking his head. “Probably didn’t use gloves either.”</p><p>“So there might be fingerprints on the painting,” Malcolm nods as she speaks, “He went through all of that just to put the painting back <em>upside down?” </em></p><p>He smiles a little at the tone of her voice, shrugging his shoulder, “Well, we all make mistakes. Mine was giving you a key to my apartment so you could harass me when I’m not feeling well.”</p><p>Dani laughs gently, can’t help it as she turns her phone off so she can put it back into her pocket. With this added information, she definitely has to go back to the precinct so that she can fill Gil and JT in. Not that she’s willing to bet on anything, but from Malcolm’s brief description of how the painting was handled, they might be dealing with an amateur art theft. Unfortunately, if there’s one, there might be others that this guy has attempted to steal or may have been successful with before the murder.</p><p>“See? Told you I could be useful.”</p><p>She stands from the bed and moves to tug the covers down, motioning for him to crawl under them as he sets his tea down on the nightstand. “I never said you weren’t useful, <em>you </em>said that.” She points out, sitting on the edge as he settles beneath the sheets. “Just because you had to take care of yourself doesn’t mean that the team doesn’t need you. That I don’t need you.”</p><p>Bright swallows, his eyes finding hers as she gently takes his wrists to put into the restraints, her touch gentle. The words settle in the air like falling snow, surrounding them, an admission she’s never allowed herself to say outloud even though it feels like a given at this point. She rubs the back of her neck, blush beginning to blotch at her skin.</p><p>Luckily, he adds to the conversation by completely changing the subject, “Did you know that Degas could have been one of the most interesting landscape painters of his time but he chose to focus on human subjects instead?”</p><p>She bites down on her lower lip, “Like ballerinas, right? That was him?”</p><p>He smiles softly, dipping his chin a little. She’s sure he probably has a bunch of commentary about how Degas wasn’t the only painter who depicted dancers, but he lets her have that one.</p><p>Dani doesn’t like the idea of leaving him like this, wanting him to be able to curl underneath his blankets and warm his hands but she knows he can’t sleep without the restraints. She supposes he doesn’t seem too bad—with a few more hours sleep and another cup of tea, he might be brand new by tomorrow.</p><p>She knows that even if he <em>isn’t </em>that he’ll be back to work, that there really will be no stopping him regardless if he needs another day or not.</p><p>Dani chews on her lower lip, resting her hands on her legs as Malcolm rests against the mattress and she makes sure the comforter is tugged up to his chin the best that the restraints allow. He offers her a small smile, blue eyes warm and comforted by her presence.</p><p>“Try and get some sleep, for real.” She pushes a little insistently on his chest as she stands and even though he rolls his eyes, she knows that he will just for the sake that he doesn’t want to be sick anymore. “Call me when you wake up.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to come,” He says as she walks over to the coat rack and gathers her leather jacket, fishing her hair out from underneath the collar. Malcolm doesn’t have to say the words exactly, but she knows he’s thanking her.</p><p>“I know,” She says, checking for her car keys, “I wanted to.”</p><p>He smiles gently before nodding and by the time she slips out the front door, he’s asleep.</p><p>--</p><p>As it turns out, there’s a small ring of lower level art thieves that don’t steal from museums because the security is too difficult. Instead, they pray on private collectors and sell the paintings on the black market for the highest bids. Something they probably wouldn’t have put together without Malcolm’s attention to detail on the Degas—but no one gives him too much praise when he comes back because they’ll never hear the end of it.</p><p>“This is the one time he can keep that shit to himself because he figured it out at home,” JT says as he takes down photos from the white-board in the conference room, “He has enough eureka moments that we gotta put up with when he’s here.”</p><p>Dani laughs gently but says nothing, labeling the box they’re about to put all their files into with a case number.</p><p>--</p><p>It takes about a week to get back into the full swing of things and even then, after a long afternoon, Dani knows she should have stayed home. Her throat hurts, there’s a headache pounding at her temples and a sharp feathering in her sinuses that’s just enough to irritate her but doesn’t make her sneeze. She already knows that she probably has what Malcolm did and it’s only a matter of time before it knocks her on her ass…but until then, she’s going to press on until she can’t. They’re in the middle of a case and that doesn’t stop just because she’s sick.</p><p>A mug of tea is set down in front of her and when she looks up, Bright is standing there in a pair of navy-blue slacks and a white button-down that’s rolled up over his elbows.</p><p>“What’s this for?” She asks but takes the mug anyways, her voice slightly groggy as if she’s just woken up.</p><p>Malcolm smiles a little, too knowing for her taste, “Because you don’t feel well.” He watches her for a moment, “Let me take you home.”</p><p>“We’ve got a case to work on.” She insists but he’s already moving even though he’s just joined her and attempts to pull her chair back from her desk. He takes her coat so he can help her slide it on and motions to lift her arms up.</p><p>“Already told Gil this was happening and I solved a case from bed. So really, there’s no excuse why you can’t too.” He says and reaches around her to collect files, picking up her mug of tea that she supposes they’re just going to borrow and bring back later.</p><p>Dani huffs and turns, fixing him with a look but doesn’t have the energy to really make it stick, “You didn’t <em>solve </em>a case, you gave us missing information.”</p><p>He clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “Yeah, <em>vital </em>missing information.”</p><p>She’s not going to win this argument and she’s too tired to try. She runs a hand over her face before grabbing the mug from his grasp and takes a sip of the tea, which is soothing to her throat. He gathers up the rest of her things, throwing the strap of her satchel over his shoulder. Dani finds herself leaning into his side as they walk towards the exit, curling her hair around her ear as she turns to look at him,</p><p>“I’m taking the key to my apartment back that I gave you for emergencies.”</p><p>He smiles a little, “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” And unfortunately, Dani knows that’s true but decides to make a dramatic display of rolling her eyes as he holds the door open for her.</p><p>--</p><p>Malcolm takes her back to her apartment and she ends up falling asleep on the couch at some point while a medical drama plays in the background on her TV. The next time she wakes up, she sees Bright in her kitchen making some sort of pastry from scratch (because of course he is).</p><p>There’s a cup of steaming tea and one singular cream-colored tulip on the coffee table in front of her.</p><p>--</p><p><strong>notes 1</strong>: the painting that Brighwell discuss is called ‘<a href="https://www.artnews.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/autumnlandscapeprivate-e1459526982897.jpg">Autumn Landscape</a>’ and imo could be accidently hung upside down without being noticed. Unless you're Malcolm ;)</p><p><strong>notes 2</strong>: my knowledge of paintings and prices and the art world is rudimentary at best and comes from a high school art degree and the TV show ‘White Collar’. This is all for entertainment purposes thanks for enjoying my work of fiction lol</p><p><strong>notes 3</strong>: cream-colored tulips can most definitely symbolize commitment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading and if you offer comments / kudos! i'm at blainesebastian on tumblr if you wanna say hi :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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